


A Sky For Sinners

by ASCII42



Series: And the River Ran Black [3]
Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: Blackwatch family, Dad Reaper | Gabriel Reyes, Deadlock Gang, Drug Withdrawal, I swear this has a happy ending, Past Child Abuse, Past Drug Use, refer to first fic in series for in more explanation of world building, short chapters as a format choice
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-09-11
Updated: 2017-11-28
Packaged: 2018-12-25 13:04:56
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 4
Words: 5,095
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12036471
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ASCII42/pseuds/ASCII42
Summary: Jesse "Deadeye" McCree had never in his life been so sure that he was done for. They might send him to prison. They might just kill him. Either way this was not the kind of hole people climbed back out of. The Boogeyman was real. And he'd decided he hated Jesse personally.(I am sorry for the barrage of updates that are not really updates. I was unhappy with how this story was going and decided to fix it at 2am....In a very unorganized manner. So anyway a bit of this has been rewritten. But if your are following this or anything and you saw....yeah let me just apologize for the disappointment there are no new chapters. Just the old ones with new words.)





	1. This Ain't No Place For No Hero

**Author's Note:**

> Chapter update is a mild rewrite of some stuff I wasn't happy with.

Deadeye hadn't liked this idea. Not one bit. He thought that they were out matched and that his had been poorly planned. But that seemed to be the norm as of late. Bigger hits, bigger scores. The same old strategies. 

The buildings around them were rusted and decaying. The remnants of what had once been a trailer park now abandoned. Homes long since taken off their wheels left to rot during the Crisis. The wind whipped up around them just enough to be a pain. Another gust smacked him in the face. Sand making its way into his eyes and his ear. 

Rotting trailers, he thinks angrily, are not great for stopping bullets. Sure you can hide behind them. But they won't stop gun from ripping you a new asshole. He glares at Flint's turned back. Imagining forlornly that he can beam the thoughts into his head. 'This is not the ambush you're looking for.' Then shoves his hat further down onto his head as the wind picks up more dust. 

It's only been maybe 10 minutes since they got here and he feels like he's gonna die of heat stroke. Won't even have to worry about the bullets then. If during all this he dies of heat stroke. 

The thought almost brings a chuckle to his lips but it's cut off by the sound of engines in the distance. The sound they've been waiting for. As it draws closer the idle chatter turns into foul mouthed shouts. "Hey Ronnie show 'em what your dick looks like." Someone says. 

The truck comes plowing forward into the tripwire and spins sideways with a whine like a knife in his ears. The ground shakes at the crash he feels in his bones as several tons of metal drop to the ground in a dead heap. 

A bullet rips over his head and he takes aim at men inside the truck. They drop like puppets and someone cut the strings. The man behind him dies but overall the number of desert clad soldiers is dwindling. He pops another shot around the corner and sprints for the other side of the trailer and onto the next. A bullet from his gun finding the head of Mr.Blue With The Most Stripes. 20 seconds flat. Not bad. Not bad at all. 

The men in blue dissolve into chaos. He lines up his next shot. And misses. The sound knocks his aim off and blasts pain through his skull. Hands come over his ears on instinct. He knows this, riot control. He'd felt it before back when he was young and reckless and still believed in the greater good. Mostly it was used by cops. Designed to disperse or incapacitate a crowd. Dimly he feels his knees make contact with the ground and tries to pry his eyes open. The need to live cutting through the agony of spikes driving into his bones. But no one is shooting anymore. Everyone's on the ground mouths open and words lost to the noise around them. 

He sees the airship that's materialized above them and the gas canisters dropping and has enough sense left to try and run. But his legs won't cooperate muscles refusing to hold his weight as he scrambles to stand, then to crawl, to do anything to get away. His vision is fading. Grey hemming around the edges. Pain and exhaustion being replaced with a warm fuzzy feeling as all his muscles go lax.

* * *

7 hours before....

The old warehouse was in the sort of state to _almost_ look abandoned. If not for all the hallways and rooms that had been built off to the side. But those were hardly in a better state. Paint chipping and wood rotting in places. It was the only thing for miles in any direction. A desert road running one way in and out. How they had power or running water was a miracle he tried not to think too hard about lest he jinks it. Even if it was on a somewhat unreliable base already. 

"Hey assholes. You've got church in 10 minutes." With that Flint stormed back into the hallway. Moody as always. The man was temperamental. A little reckless. But he got the job done every time. Jesse trusted him with his life. Not the smartest move for everyone. But he'd saved Flint enough times. They had an understanding that Flint had never broken. 

He sat outside in a little patch cover from the sun by the roof above. Not a shade built for it but a room that had had most of it's walls knocked down. Beside him Shay waved his hand around a bit in the universal signal for 'give me'. Jesse realized he was still holding the pipe on his lap and passed it over. Watching with absent minded fascination as the smoke called in the air. 

"Flint seems to have his panties in a bunch lately." Shay said. His brown hair long and falling over his shoulders in a way that made him look beautiful. So many things he'd never notice in a normal state of mind. The way the wind felt against his skin. The change in blue as the sky dipped lower. Waves of heat rolling up the dessert in patterns. Like the beating of a heart. The way the cliffs rose up out of the ground like greate creatures come to watch but not to interfere. 

"Naw." He said after a pause. "He's always like this. Got a lot on his mind you know." 

Ronnie just huffed. The guy never said anything. Really Jesse had heard him speak like three sentences ever. He seemed genuinely shy. Embarrassed at the drop of a hat. Not something Jesse had come around often. It'd earned him no small amount of crap from the guys. But he was good with a gun and better with his fists. So Jesse had gotten close with him. Better to have 3 people like Ronnie than 10 who fucking think there John Wayne. 

The three of them just sat there. Not saying much. Thinking and feeling and just being. 

Jesse shook his head. The smoke had a weird way of doing that to you. Of making you roll things around in your mind that in ways you might not. A shift in consciousness Cora called it. He realized he'd thought of Cora because she was walking up towards them. She was pushing 55 he knew. Her birthday would be in 2 weeks. Regal, he thought, not for the first time. Regal was the word to describe that woman. The woman who had tamed this bunch of men. Cared for them all like they were her children. No one said a kind word to there best friend. But around Cora it was 'Yes Ma'am'. Maybe it alienated her as much as anything. Despite all her efforts she was respected, feared, sometimes even loved. But never the same. 

"You boys better get yourselves sober. Were leaving for the raid this afternoon." 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So I opted not to use any real world drug for this because of the simple fact that I haven't done them. Like the only thing I've ever smoked is pot. But when people write about pot it's usually real obvious if they've never smoked it (Even to some extent when they've done they're research. It ends up sounding like they're reciting a list of symptoms off antidrugs.com or something. I mean lol.) So with that in mind I'm not gonna try to write about smoking meth or heroin. Better to make up something new than botch real world experiences.


	2. You Gave Me Nothing

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Some of the warning tags come into play in this chapter. Specific TW at bottom notes. I'm so sorry. I promise this has a happy ending.

A 12 year old Jesse sat curled on his bed with one arm propped up on his knees and the other clutched tightly around the knife he'd stolen from the kitchen. Thinly concealed under the covers. From this position, he could see the door and the window. He could also make it out either one if someone came in. It also seemed like it looked cool to sit this way. Not that that should have mattered. But maybe it made him feel more in control. Like he was one of the heroes in the movies. 

The house was one story. A small apartment stacked in rows and rows just like it. It smelled of beer and burnt sugar. But it was always clean and sometimes when dad was at work mamá would light some of her expensive candles and the house would smell of lilacs. Those were always good days. 

Something broke in the kitchen and for a second it took all his energy not to flinch. He stared unblinking at the curtain hanging where a door had once been. Every word reached his ears. 

"What the fuck is that thing doing in my house. I should fucking shoot it. You bring a dog into my house, spend my money to feed it. Do you have no love for what I do for you? You just want to fucking waste it. Is that it? " There was another thump and a pained yelp. The injured animal only crying louder.  

The dog was gonna die and it was gonna be Jesse's fault. He'd picked it up off the street so thin he wasn't sure it would live all the way back to the house. That had been 2 weeks ago. He'd kept it in his closet all careful like. Kept it fed and watered and took it out for walks when no one else was home. But he'd been asleep and it had gotten out and now the dog was gonna die and his mamá was gonna get hurt and it was going to be his fault.  

He tried to think. He wasn't strong or fast enough to fight. But just maybe he could be smarter. He looked around the room, then down to the knife in his hands. That wouldn't do. To close range for someone smaller to use. His eyes went to the right wall where the other bedroom was. Maybe he wouldn't have to be any of those things. Tucking the knife into his back pocket and moving real slow to not make noise he got off the bed and crept over to the doorway. Hand stilling at the edge of the curtain. His heart pounded harder hand shaking a little. This was really happening. He could always turn around. Sit back down on the bed and wait and sooner or later it would end. One way or another. But the dog would die. And mamá would get hurt. He'd been a coward. Whatever happened would be past due.  

The curtain swished to the side and back soundlessly. He kept his eyes on the corner of the kitchen he could see through the hall sidestepping until he could see his dad's shoulder. Heaving up and down as his arm flung out to the side. "Answer me! I said do you hate me." 

"Por favor cocino."

"Really when? It's amazing I do nothing but work for you and you hate me for it."  

Quick as a wipe he ducked through the hallway and the curtain to his parent's room. Stilling it with a hand as it tried to swish behind him. Breath coming so quick he felt dizzy he ran to the dresser nearly tripping over dirtied clothes. Carefully not to make noise he eased each drawer open until he found what he was looking for. He found the gun checked the clip cocked it back and flipped off the safety. Just like the older boys at school had taught him. His hands forced to steady when they squeezed around the handle. He thought he might pass out. 

The sound of a fist hitting flesh snapped his last bit of hesitance. He stormed into the kitchen whole body flinching at the smack of someone hitting the floor. 

"Stop!" He screamed as loud as he could. It came out sounding high and afraid and not at all how he wanted. 

His dad turned around. Mamá down on the floor behind him. For a second there was nothing and time stopped. Then he started laughing. "You hate me so much you're gonna shoot me? Well how the fuck you plan on eaten. Listen boy." He crouched down on his knees to be at Jesse's height. And smiled real nice like. "Here's what I do for you. I pay the rent. I buy you food. I buy you clothes. I take care of you and your mama. And all I ask for in return. All I ask for is a little respect. That's all. So I want you to put the gun down. And you're gonna say 'Thank you dad. I love you.'" 

Jesse's hands shook harder. The gun went off. He hadn't meant it to. It had just happened. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> IDK if any of you have smelled this before but some cheap meth smells like burnt sugar. Good meth smells like nothing. 
> 
> TW: Abuse, people hurting animals, victim blaming.


	3. Freedoms Just Another Word For Nothing Left To Lose.

Present Day.... 

Consciousness came back slowly. An uphill battle against the thick cotton wrapped around his head. Eventually he grabbed onto the stabbing pain whenever he opened his eyes and used it to haul himself out of sleep. His movement was stopped suddenly by the metal bracelets around his wrists. It all came tumbling back. The bad roomers after church. The raid. Getting gassed. 

The room around him was dark. Just enough light to see his hands in front of his face coming in from the door. So he'd been arrested. That hadn't been another gang. Not with an air strike like that. Were they just the average cops? That was the most likely but they could also be Fed's, CIA. With the last couple of month's he was pretty sure Deadlock had earned themselves that. The real question was could they waterboard him before throwing him in jail? What a morbid fucking thought. 

How many got caught? Was Shay alive? was Ronnie? Flint? He shoved those thought's down. Lock them and threw away the key. Couldn't dwell on the what if's. Right now the only person he could safe was himself. So he would do it. 

Eventually he lost track of time. Fear creeping into boredom and back again as he tried to find the edges of room squinting through the dark. Was that wall real? Or just where his mind thought it should be. His throat felt like sandpaper. He had to use the bathroom. 

By the time the door opened he'd lost most sense of where and when. It was....unsettling. The room flooded painfully with light. Then more as the actual lights turned on. That wall was not in fact where his mind though it would be.  _Shay, Ronnie, Flint, Cora._

"Jesse McCree." Footsteps walked behind him. And for a second he was absolutely sure his head was about to slam into the table. Nothing happened. Instead the footsteps circled around the front and a dark skinned man wearing a thug hoodie and a beanie pulled the chair back with a loud screech and propped one foot up on his knee. He was probably the grunt sent in to look scary but the effect was really wasted on Jesse. But what wasn't wasted on him was that was no kind of uniform. That wasn't police or military or even private security. Which on one hand meant he probably wasn't going to jail. _Shay, Ronnie, Flint, Cora._ On the other it meant there was nothing stopping them for waterboarding him. 

"Do you want some soda?" Beanie head asked. "Or maybe some food. We've got PB&J." 

"No thank you." He was not gonna play that game. 

"Alright then. Please state your name and age for the record." 

"Names Butch Cassidy and I'm 23 years old." He couldn't help it. They'd made it too easy. 

"Alright Mr. Cassidy how long have you been with Deadlock for?" 

"What's a dead lock?" 

"Cowboy hears the deal. You play stupid and things get worse for you. You answer honest we give you soda and PB&J" 

"I'm allergic to peanut butter." 

"We ran you through medical while you were unconscious. Already know what you're allergic to. We also know that your 16. And you broke your leg when you were 11. Would you like to start over?" 

They ran him through medical? Had his records?  _Shay, Ronnie, Flint, Cora._

"Worst case scenario. You give us nothing and we try this another way. You still tell us nothing and we hand you over to the American government. You're a minor so you won't get the death penalty. If that's any consolation." 

So much for not going to prison. "Is that what you want. Torture me and throw me in prison. 25 to life." 

"Look I'm not gonna lie to you. Tell you that I'm your friend and I'm here to help you. Because I'm not. But I can make life easier for you if you help us. You go and you do your time. Get out and you can start your life." 

"Bullshit I'd be dead in a week." 

"Is that what you think? Snitches get stitches?" 

"They get what they deserve." 

"So you are with Deadlock. And a true believer?" 

"Never said that." 

"You're not a true believer for the cause?" 

"What. Is. A. Dead. Lock?" 

"13. Three years is a lot of time to indoctrinate someone. Especially a young impressionable kid. Did they recruit you or did you volunteer?"  _Shay, Ronnie, Flint, Cora._

He did the first thing that crossed his mind and slammed his head across the table right into Mr.Beanie's face. Not the most original sure. But nothing says go fuck yourself quite like a broken nose. 

Beanie didn't even flinch so much as he did pull back and wipe the blood dripping down his face. Looking at it like it spit on his boot. Then he turned on his heel and walked out. 

"What nothing." Jesse yelled. "Not even a goodbye." 

The door clicked shut. 

More time passed but the lights stayed on. 

* * *

Eventually his head started to fog. From lack of food? Water? Sleep? Just from boredom? It was probably all of the above. But by the time the door opened back up the walls has started warping a little.  

Mr.Beanie looked no worse for the ware. In fact his nose looked fine. Same angle as before, no swelling. Which was a little disappointing to say the least. Maybe Jesse hadn't hit him as hard as he thought he had.  

"Here water." He slid a plastic cup across the table. 

Jesse eyed it dubiously. 

"If we wanted to drug you we would have. And we already got your fingerprints." 

He was right. And if he had to guess, Jesse was pretty sure he was getting out of here no time soon. So unless he intended on committing suicide by thirst.... He picked up the cup of water drowning it in one go. Heaving for breath and nearly choking in the process. But shit water had never tasted so good. His head clearing some even as he looked longingly at the bottom of the cup. 

"Alright," Mr.Beanie face continued as if he'd never left. "Jesse 'Deadeye' McCree. 16 years old. Jointed the Deadlock gang at age 13. A few months after your mom killed your dad. At which point you stopped attending school. I'm guessing you ran away from home." 

"My dude, the fuck is it you want. Ain't you gonna ask me for names, or bases, or drop sights?" The mention of his mom made his blood freeze. Just like always. But it was a calm sort of cold. Almost subtle in it's familiarity. 

"We'll get to that. So what was it. Was it the money? A little 13 year old Deadeye gets offered a few dollars as a hired gun and you just couldn't say no? Or maybe." He stood up and walked around the table. "You just wanted a life full guns and glory. Get paid, get laid, gatorade." Beanie raised a mocking eyebrow. 

"What is Deadeye? What is a Deadlock? You keep throwing around all these D words it gets confusing." 

Beanie snorted sitting back in the chair with a shake of his head. His whole face suddenly changing. "You got fire kid I'll give you that. But it won't help you. Not in the long run. Not where you're going. Look." He pulled up a tablet. "Deadlocks gone. It's done and bleeding out. Your help would make it go faster. But these people your so loyal to. There gone."  _Shay, Ronnie, Flint, Cora._

Jesse looked at the picture of the burning warehouse. He could point out the exact spot where his room has been. What little money he'd saved for himself. All of his books. He'd lost people. So many he'd stopped crying for it a long time ago. So he blamed the tears now on exhaustion. On interrogation. On whatever the fuck they were doing to him in this room. "Fuck you. You all sit up here on your fucking throne." His voice goes a little high and he shuts his mouth before he can say more. 

"No please continue." Beanie head is just leaning against the wall. He's laughing. Like this is a fucking joke. 

"You all sit up here on your fucking throne. Split up families. You don't give a shit what happens to the rest of us. Like I had a choice. Starve on the street. Rot in a foster home. Those sound like good options to you. I'm just trying to live. Just trying not to..." As soon as it's out of his mouth he regrets it. He lost his temper and now that the words are out he feels sick. Tears are free falling and he shoves them back with something that's mostly panic. "Either way I'm done. So I'd rather not be a nark, thanks." He should stop talking now but he said something he shouldn't have and Jesse needs to  _fix it_ to say something to cover it up. 

"What if I told you there was another option." 

"I'd say you're a god damned liar." 

"Someone with your skills Jesse. It would be a shame to let you rot in prison." 

"What's the catch." 

"First you tell us everything about Deadlock. You're gonna snitch and snitch until we have what we need. Then we're gonna teach you how to kill. When we decide you're ready you'll do the same job for us you did for Deadlock. But you'll never see the inside of a prison cell." 

He knows he's shaking but he can't make himself stop. "I already know how to kill." It's like years of numbness are gone and god does he wish it would come back. 

"I don't think dying in prison is what you want." 

"Fine, I'll do it. I'll work for you." He hated himself. It felt like cowardice, or maybe just plain old weakness. But he was doing what he always did. Surviving. And that mattered more. Didn't it? 


	4. Turn The Page

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TW in endnotes as always.

The cuffs came off his hands and rubbed his wrists. "Good. Welcome to Blackwatch." The door opened. 

Blackwatch? He had to have heard wrong. Blackwatch was supposed to be a myth. It was just some fucking horror story people told drunk around a campfire. How much of those stories could possibly be true? 

But really it didn't matter what was the truth was. If the people who had gotten the reputation of the devil were real. That kind of story got twisted around but didn't come out of nothing. That fact that those stories existed said what needed to be known about the people in them. 

"Well kid come on. You plan on staying in there?" 

"W-what. I thought you wanted me to snitch first." No small amount of sarcasm was used and in hindsight, it was not the smartest thing to say. Beanie head could easily still decide to throw him in prison. 

"That can wait till later. First, you've been in here for 48 hours. Your gonna eat, drink water, and sleep." 

48 hours? he'd lost all sense of time but somehow it had felt like less than that. Why was he doing this? It didn't make sense. More likely to talk when exhausted and all that? 

"Names Commander Reyes. You take orders from me and anyone I tell you to." 

"Yes sir."  

Beanie....Reye's. Best to call his that as long as he was Jesse's meal, bed, and get out of jail free card; turned and walked out. Not looking to see if Jesse would follow. He stumbled after. A little shakier on his feet than he would like to admit. The rest of the place looked...different than he had imagined. There were no windows but the hallways were spacious, well lit. They took an elevator a few floors up. The hum was nearly silent. Nothing creaked or groaned. The silence probably should have been awkward but the walls were warping in front of him in that way only induced by drugs and sleep deprivation. The elevator slid to a stop.

This hallway looked exactly the same as the last. He ran his hand along the wall. Somehow a few degrees warmer than the air. Everything smelled like someone had used too much sanitizer then sprayed lavender perfume to cover it up. 

"Here's the rec room. Good luck getting ahold of a TV. Try not to fight anyone over it." 

"Understood." 

They dipped around a few more corners. Some people started to stare at Jesse only to straighten up when they noticed Reyes.

"We serve food 3 times a day but there should always be snacks on the shelves. Feel free to take those back to your room. Here." Reyes tossed him a bag of chips and a sandwich. "Eat that. And drink this." The orange juice nearly got his head.  

He realized they had stopped walking and that Reyes had in fact sat down at a table. He sat. Then proceeded to stare at the sandwich trying to figure out why the plastic wrap around it was so complicated. There were a few people lounging around the mess hall. Some crackling, talking animatedly. But to Jesse, every little noise was too much. His senses couldn't process. He wanted to murder whoever kept laughing. He wanted to curl up in a ball and cry because too many things were happening. He continued to stare at his sandwich. 

Eventually Reyes took pity on him and unwrapped it. Setting it back on his plate before Jesse could start to protest his food being taken. "Eat. I know you're tired but I promise you'll feel worse if you're also starved." 

Once he started it wasn't so bad. Turns out it doesn't take concentration to eat a sandwich. The trick was not thinking lest the floor start spinning. 

"Commander," A voice came from the ceiling and Jesse almost dropped his food."Morrison had requested to see you." 

"Copy that Athena. That's our resident AI." 

Jesse just nodded dumbly. What if this was all a dream. That would certainly explain a lot. He was gonna wake up in his bunk and this was just some crazy shit from Shay's stupid spy movies. 

"McCree!."

He realized he had been staring at the floor for while the walls melted at the edge of his vision. And jogged over to where the Commander hadn't stopped walking. A few more yards and a few more curious stares. God were those words, they better not have been directed at him. He had no idea what they meant. Reyes stopped in front of a door. Jesse nearly slammed into him. 

"This is going to be your room. Athena code room 4B to Jesse McCree." There was a little beeping sound "Put your hand on the scanner." 

He watched as the blue light slid back and forth beneath his palm. The door slip open. A room was about average size. Plane. Twin bed with grey sheets sat against the far wall. A dresser off to one side and the door to the bathroom on the other. There had to be some sort of catch. This was probably just temporary till they finished squeezing him for information and decided he wasn't a security threat.

"Earth to McCree." A hand waved in front of his face. Snapping beside his ear. 

"Thank you...Sir." He finally stammered out. 

"Go on. I know you have to feel like shit right now. Try and get some rest okay. Ask Athena if you need anything. There'll be someone here at 5 to start your debrief."  

With that the door closed behind him. The clock on the dresser said it was already past 7 at night so he assumed Beanie face...Reyes, he had to stop calling him that before he said it out loud. He assumed Reyes meant 5 am. 

Eat, drink, sleep, he'd said. Jesse looked down at the bag of chips laying down to test the bed out. They were probably eatable. Just as soon as he decided how many blankets to use.... 

Consciousness came back not quite all at once. As in he was up and standing on the other side of the room all at once. But awareness and control came back slower. He got gassed. Blackwatch. He was in a room at Blackwatch. The clock read 3 am. He made himself take a few deep breaths in and out. Then got on the floor and did a few pushups. It was something that took energy and concentration. The little bit of pain and effort was grounding. 

With nothing else to do he picked the forgotten bag of chips up off the floor. They were actually good. So was the juice. But as it turns out less sleep deprived and alone at 3 am with his thoughts was a damn good way for gravity to catch back up. 

As in the reality that he was about to screw Deadlock. And the Commander could toss him in prison the second he finished running his mouth. He could shoot him and toss him in the fucking trash compactor. He needed to keep his mouth shut. It was basic fucking logic to keep your mouth shut what.... _They're gonna beat it out of you_. Why hadn't they already?  _Because they didn't need to._ Why would they have use for someone like him? He'd already proven he'd sell them out.  _How stupid was I. To think they would pick up a gang banger of the street and offer them a job._ He'd likely gotten himself a worse ticket by agreeing to whatever the fuck they wanted. And all because he got scared the second he saw the inside of an interrogation room. How fucking stupid....

"McCree." He flinched hard enough to smack his wrist into the wall. "My sensors have detected that your heart rate and vital signs are elevated. Are you in need of assistance?"  

They have an AI spying on him. He has to keep his shit together. They'll know if he breaks down and he can kiss his ass goodbye. 

"McCree. I am contacting a medical agent for assistance." 

"No, no you don't need...do that Athena. I'm fine. J-just bad dream is all." 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TW: Mild panic attack. A little bit of dissociation caused by sleep deprivation, hunger, stress.


End file.
